Don't Ever Say Goodbye (You Catch Me, I'll Catch You)
by MurphysGirl
Summary: Destiel College AU. When Dean meets Castiel, he's not sure what to expect. But for Cas it's obvious, though he believes it's a little unrequited. When accidents happen and hope seems lost, how can they pull themselves out of a pit of darkness without a single scratch?
1. Part I

The following situations and characters are a work of fiction.

Any similarities between real or actual events or people is purely coincidental and are in no way intended to offend or appropriate the subjects they have adapted to these particular circumstances.

Readers may encounter some ideologically sensitive material such as homophobia, depression, drug use, alcoholism, violence, sexual scenes/references, strong language, and illness.

**You Catch Me; I'll Catch You.**

_"What if I told you  
Thats it's just a front  
To hide the insecurities I have?_

_And what if I told you_  
_That I'm not as strong_  
_As I like to make believe I am?"_

- Jason Walker

* * *

**Part I**

Life's never been easy for Dean Winchester. It's always been kinda rough, sticky, and downright unfair; but it's always been his life and he's always dealt with it. But this? This never-ending week has been shitty. Even by his low, dwindling standards.

Dean runs a large, tanned hand through his dirty blonde hair, tired green eyes scanning the bottles on the shelves in front of him as he leans his back against the cool wooden bar. He tucks a greasy cloth into a pocket of dark jeans and straightens out the scarlet-red apron that keeps his lower half out of sight and away from alcohol-related mishaps. His hands smooth over the rough '_Harvelle's Roadhouse' _logo on the bottom right before resting on the bar top. His large, worn-in fingers curl beneath the counter as he slacks his elbows and releases the tension in his shoulders. Dean leans his head back, rolling it from one shoulder to the other before sighing; expelling tired, used air from tired, used lungs. He closes his heavy eyes briefly, feeling his thick eyelashes touch his cheek as he relishes in empty darkness.

Dean has always liked the dark.

"Dean?" A pretty blonde with deep brown eyes stands in front of him, delicate arms crossed over her chest. She stands with one leg bent, hip jutting out and exposing bare skin between pale blue jeans held up with a thick black belt, a small white vest clinging to her skinny frame like cling film.

Dean peels open his eyes, scans and assesses the situation before grunting as he rolls his eyes and straightens up.

She raises a neat eyebrow in an apathetic response.

"What?" He snaps, his deep voice rumbling around the empty bar.

"Oi, don't give me that attitude Winchester. You know I don't scare easy."

"Sorry, Jo." Dean pulls his back away from the bar and crosses his arms, half smiling at Jo with a curve from the corner of his mouth. "It's just… school stuff, you know? So much to do, so little time and all that crap." He reaches out to touch her shoulder. "Ignore me, I'm just fucking shattered."

Jo sighs. "Tonne of homework, huh?"

"That doesn't even begin to cover it." Dean laughs, though it doesn't sound as humoured as he intended. He shrugs it off, shoving his hands back to the depth of his pockets.

Jo places a dainty hand on Dean's large forearm and smiles, eyes lit with empathy. "Well, sorry to be the bearer of bad news, then, but I'm off. Mom's taking me away for the week and our flight leaves at 3am."

Dean's heart sinks. Great, this is exactly what he needs - a long night on his own dealing with arrogant sons-of-bitches who come in at two in the morning demanding to intoxicate themselves with more than they can handle. "Are you freaking kidding me, Jo? I hate spending a night at the bar alone, it's draining and boring and-"

"Sorry, Dean, but – wait, Dean, _oh for_ _gods sake;_ would you just listen!"

Dean clenches his jaw, tired of everything and, to be perfectly honest, everyone. He knows he's being moody as hell, but goddammit he feels like this week he deserves to be. He raises his eyebrows, waiting.

"You won't be alone, okay? Mom asked the new guy to cover for me; he's coming at midnight. You'll be alright for an hour, so quit moaning." Jo pats Dean on the shoulder, rolling her eyes and attempting to suppress an amused smile.

Dean sighs, stringing the cloth between his hands. Somehow he'd subconsciously pulled the damn thing out of his pocket. "Yep, go. Guess I'll spend the night making awkward conversation with some dude then." He mumbles, turning around and spraying some borax on the already twice cleaned bar top. Jo leans onto her toes, places a hand on both of Deans shoulders and reaches round to peck him on the cheek. Dammit, though, Dean really does like Jo. She's such a sweet kid; she kinda reminds him of Sam.

"Thanks, Dean. Sorry, but I really do have to take off!" She scoops up her things, flinging a battered black bag over her shoulder as she stumbles towards the exit.

"Great. I'm sure as hell looking forward to the rest of this night." Dean mutters to himself, slamming the cloth on the bar and scrubbing viciously at the counter.

He knows he's overreacting; He just doesn't care. He's had a god-awful week with 12 hours of training for Coach Allan, all of which spent with the idiot, Michael from his Architecture class, as a newbie to the American Football team and making his life a living hell, his car – no, his _baby _– a gorgeous, classic 1967 Chevrolet Impala, broke down after his Dad had drunkenly decided to slam it into a tree. It's gonna take Dean months to fix her, and Hell, where's he gonna find the damn time?

Dean throws the dirty cloth into a bowl of soapy water on top of the counter before stepping out from behind the bar and straightening out the chairs. He makes his way around the bar organizing the little things: the salt and pepper pots, the vinegar, the placemats. He steps back and admires his work, praying that no one comes in for a while so he can get on with his homework. He heads over to where his bag is stashed and folds himself onto a chair. Pulling a large black folder out, he opens it to a page full of sketches and measurements and places it on the table in front of him. He might as well get to work while he has some time.

Dean's been studying Architecture at the University of Kansas for nearly two years now, but there's been many times when he'd thought he'd have to drop out, to let go of his dream; mainly because of his Dad. Dealing with an abusive drunk would never be easy, but Dean's biggest problem was that he'd seen the way his Dad used to be. When his Mom, Mary, was alive, John was the kindest man Dean thinks he'll ever know. But when she was killed in that accident just over 14 years ago, something changed in John. He was loud, abusive and mean. The thing is, though, that Dean doesn't care what John does or says to him. He cares about Sam, his little, skinny, 15-year-old brother who can't stand to watch his Dad throw Dean around. Well, Sam used to be little and skinny, he's taller than Dean now by about an inch – but he's always going to be _his_ little brother, no matter what. Dean can take the punches, the blows, if it keeps his Dad's rage away from Sam. Dean sighs, straining his eyes in the dim glow and struggling to concentrate. He puts his pen down on the paper, stretching his arms out in front of him and clicking his fingers together. His large hands look too rough and tortured for a 21-year-old, lines and scars etched across the surface drawing a detailed map of his life: the small red line, just below his fourth finger on his left hand, from where his Mom had tripped down the stairs and thrown him against the banister. Dean remembers her anxious tears as she held him – he never thought she'd let him go. There's that red burn mark on the fleshy part between his thumb and forefinger too, from when his Dad was trying to throw a kettle at Sam and Dean had only just pushed his 10-year-old brother out the way in time. Oh, and the worn-in finger tips from endless hours spent beneath the hood of a car – namely his Chevy – or maybe from practicing his guitar to help Sammy calm down, plus there's the lumps and bruises on his right knuckles from defending Sam with the odd punch thrown here or there; they were all battle scars and wounds he'd earned from protecting some noble cause. Dean scoffs. _Noble. _Nothing about Dean feels noble.

The door rattles, chasing Dean out of memory lane with a start. He hurriedly composes himself, trying to fold up his schoolwork and shove it into his bag before the customer makes some snide comment about working on the job. Dean stands up, running his hands down his chest and smoothing out his white shirt before turning round, a fake but polite smile plastered across his face. The thing about Dean is that he can falter anyone's intentions with a beautiful, big white smile and kind green eyes. He'd got that from his Mom.

"Can I help you?" Dean asks, his eyes shining with fake enthusiasm.

A tall guy, only a little shorter than Dean himself, stood in front of him wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt and dark blue jeans with rips above the knee. The t-shirt, cut off just above the biceps, exposes large tattoos covering his arms – no doubt his body, too, Dean thinks – and black rosary beads coiled around his wrist like a bracelet. His thick, dark hair shadows his face as bright blue eyes meet Deans, a hint of a smile on his plump lips.

Dean finds himself staring, before shaking himself and raising his eyebrows. "Dude?"

"Oh. Of course – you think I'm a customer." He pulls out a dark red apron from his back pocket, revealing bright white teeth and a deep, echoing voice.

Dean groans internally. Great – another one of those emo dudes who pretends to like classic rock and hates everyone. Exactly what Dean wanted to deal with tonight. But, as things go, this is the way his luck usually runs.

"Castiel," he announces, holding out a hand for Dean, "I'm on the late shift with you, I believe?"

Dean takes his hand and shakes it, turning the corner of his mouth up in a polite smile. "I'm Dean." Castiel. What the hell kind of a name is that? Dean scolds himself for being judgmental, knowing that the smirk across his face is probably giving away every thought in his head.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." If Castiel could tell Dean was inwardly sighing, he didn't acknowledge it. He smiles at Dean with kind blue eyes, before pushing past him to hang his bag in the cupboard behind the bar.

"Yeah, you too." Dean says, frowning as he watches Castiel tie the apron around his waist with gentle accuracy before locking the cupboard door. He can't help but admire his slender fingers and shapely palms. Damn, this guy had nice hands.

Castiel looks up, and notices Dean's perplexed stare. He cocks his head to one side, eyebrows furrowing in the centre to create a few little lines on his forehead.

"Is something troubling you?" Castiel blinks at Dean a few times, and Dean swears he can see concern in those brand new yet oh-so-familiar eyes.

"No. Just, got a lot of school work to do, you know?"

"Not really."

Dean frowns, a confused smile tracing his lips. "What?"

"School did not agree with me, much. Though I did attempt an English Major for a year, I'm kind of fascinated by language," Castiel smiles shyly, his eyes dropping to the floor as a hint of pink taints his cheeks. He peeks up at Dean through thick lashes, perfect teeth hidden beneath peachy lips. "However, I found writing was much more of a joy to me than the learning itself." Castiel steps out from behind the bar, waving a large hand dismissively at Dean before heading over to the sofa in the far corner.

Dean rolls his eyes. He's not so sure of his take on Castiel yet. He's… not what Dean expected. Dean snorts inwardly. _So far_. Dean has found that first impressions are always wrong. Just look at what happened with Benny.

"Anyway, Dean, I highly doubt this bar will be bustling tonight; it's a Monday. You look completely worn out. I can hold fort if you want to catch up on some sleep?"

Dean stares at this, this _Castiel _dude, bewildered by his kindness but also very distrusting of such selflessness coming from anyone other than family. "Why do you care if I'm tired?" His eyes narrow, feeling his insides twist as he squares his broad shoulders towards the sweetest man he might just ever meet.

Castiel looks away from the TV screen, which he had turned on to the movies channel and seemed to be entertaining the idea of watching _'A Bugs Life'_, "Because you seem like a nice guy. Jo was telling me about you yesterday."

Dean sighs, relaxing slightly. An eyebrow still raised, he struggles to hide a grin. Trust Jo - she's always bragging about how wonderful he is. Mind you, he could talk about her for days, too. "Well, thanks for the thought but I'd rather get on with my homework."

Castiel just smiles at him, running a hand across his right forearm. Dean notes how he subconsciously traces the outline of the cross he has tattooed in thick black ink and Dean wonders what it means. He toys with the idea of asking this stranger such a personal question, but quickly throws it out of his mind and sits back down to carry on with his measurements.

"So what do you study in University, Dean?" Castiel asks, eyes now fixed intently on Dean's face. Dean swallows, frowning at the nerves rushing through his stomach. It'd been a long time since he'd felt this nervous around a guy this cute. Plus, Dean wasn't quite sure what to make of the tattoos and piercings yet.

Dean shakes his head briefly, wetting his dry lips with a flick of his tongue. "Architecture. It's kinda my dream." Dean admits, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he smiles at the floor.

Castiel tilts his head at Dean, blue eyes narrowing slightly as he crinkles his brow. "Architecture..." he plays with the word in his mouth, rolling at across his tongue. "So you must be intelligent then, Dean."

Dean glances at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He loves the way his name sounds coming out of that framed mouth. "Dude, I'm not like, a genius or anything. To be honest I'm barely scraping through, and my family aren't exactly..." Dean offers an amused smile, hoping that Castiel doesn't notice the worry in his voice.

Castiel just smiles at him. "I understand."

Dean laughs, closing his eyes and tilting his face towards Castiel with a smile and raised eyebrows. He opens them again, only to be met with a shock of electric blue grinning back at him. "You really are an unusual guy, you know that?"

"I have been informed." Castiel smiles, standing up and heading over to the table Dean's sitting at. "May I sit with you instead? Nothing seems to be on."

"Yeah, no problem." Dean places his pen down, and for once he'd rather have a conversation with someone than be a recluse. "So, Cas, can I call you Cas?"

Castiel frowns, mulling it over. He then smiles and nods, placing his hands on the table.

"What didn't you like about the University life?"

Cas laughs; a sweet, short sound that bounces off the walls and makes Dean's insides squirm. "Everything. I much preferred writing poetry on a whim rather than when I had to. I found my literature, um, _sucked_ whenever I had a deadline. Plus, I dislike profusely being told what to do. So, obviously, school wasn't for me."

"Obviously." Dean grins at him, rolling his eyes with a cheeky grin. "Okay, I get that; but why are you so against being bossed around?"

"My parents were Greek Scholars in Bible and Mythology, hence the name. They wanted me to head down the same route - to be a devout Christian and to serve the will of God. I didn't see that, uh, _crap_," Castiel raises an eyebrow, gaging Dean's reaction as if waiting for an offended response, "in my future, so I rebelled. That has had some severe consequences for me, namely being cut off from my parents and any money they would offer as help. But, I live. I take each day as it comes."

Dean frowns. It seems Castiel has a lot more hidden beneath those bold tattoos and strong arms. "Hence the name?" Dean frowns.

"Cassiel is an Angel, my siblings and I all have angelic names."

"I thought you were Castiel? Like, with a 'T'?"

"I am."

"Then why did you say Cassiel?"

"My mother was convinced she was having another girl. But she was disappointed, and by then she had grown attached to the name. My father believed the name to be too feminine so they compromised by creating a new name entirely."

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Man, sounds like your upbringing was the polar opposite of mine."

"How so?" Castiel frowns.

"Don't worry; it's a long story." Dean smiles halfheartedly, glad that Cas doesn't reply with the usual 'we have time' response. Instead, he leans back and smiles gently at him. "You're not religious, then?" Dean asks, changing the subject.

"Oh no, I am. I just disagree with the way they spread God's word - it wasn't the message I believed in. They were far too strict, and besides - I hate public speaking." Cas grins at the table shyly, peeking at Dean from behind thick lashes.

Dean frowns a little, resisting the urge to touch Castiel.

"You may do your work, if you wish. Don't let me stop you."

Dean smiles, knowing that he should. "Thanks, man. Not being rude, I just really have to get this done. Deadlines, you know?"

Cas nods, standing up and heading over to the sofa. "I'll keep an eye out, let you know if anybody shows up. I'm certain that it will be empty tonight. Like I said: Monday's are rarely nights for drinking."

Dean laughs, "Yeah, thanks."

Cas seems to settle down, a large hand running through his dark hair as he leans back against the sofa. "It really was nice to meet you, Dean." He smiles.

Dean looks up, surprised, and watches Castiel's face as the light from the TV screen reflects in his eyes. He considers, for a moment, the idea of being friends with this strange, intriguing guy and he feels a smile spread slowly across his cheeks. "I don't say it much, and to be honest I don't even really like people. But, you too, Cas."

* * *

Dean carefully unlocks the door to their 3-bedroom house in Lawrence, a couples miles out from the University. Castiel had spent the rest of the night offering helpful comments whenever Dean was stuck or in serious need of some distraction, and Dean had come to find that he liked Cas: Cas made him laugh.

He tiptoes into the house, rolling his eyes as he creeps past his Dad – passed out on the sofa - drunk no doubt. He picks up the beers from the floor and places them on the side, before heading upstairs and throwing his bag under the desk in his room. He frowns, seeing Sam asleep in Dean's own double bed. He sighs a little, knowing Sammy only sleeps in Dean's bed instead of his own when something bad has happened. Dean climbs under the dark blue covers next to his brother and into a sleep full of his Mom and the happy childhood he wished they could have had.

* * *

The next day, Dean yawns and stretches, turning off his blaring alarm and throwing his pillow at Sam.

"Sammy! Wake up!'

Sam groans, flipping Dean a finger and rolling over. Dean laughs, standing up and ruffling his little brother's hair. "Come on, Genius. We gotta get you to school so you can find your way out of this hell hole."

Sam sighs, squinting through one deep green eye as he grunts a defeated reply.

Dean heads downstairs, still quiet so not to wake John, and creeps into the kitchen to make pancakes. He coats one in strawberries and chocolate, and the other in lemon and sugar. He knows they're both Sam's favorites, poor kid can never decide, so he runs them upstairs and places them on Sam's desk. He's glad to see Sam has pulled himself out of bed and is getting dressed in the bathroom, so Dean locks the door to his bedroom so he can pull on some clothes.

Dean doesn't care much for his body. He has a couple scars here and there, and he keeps fit from playing football and fixing cars; but he doesn't really _care _about what other people think. It's something he's always been proud of – not giving a damn about opinions. Why should it bother him if the guy with unlimited tattoos, a stretcher and _Avenged Sevenfold_ blaring through battered headphones wants to think he's some jock with three girls on his arm? You can judge anyone if you look hard enough, and still find you know nothing about them.

Dean finds himself thinking about Cas; Appearances, Dean concludes, are deceiving.

"Dean! I left my stuff in your room!" Sam bellows, slamming his fists against the door. Dean shakes his head, doing up his belt buckle and unlocking the door.

"Sorry Sam, I was getting changed, you know, because _it's my room_."

Sam laughs, pushing past Dean in a towel wrapped around his waist. "S'okay. These for me?" Sam grins, holding the plate full of pancakes.

Dean nods, grabbing his blue shirt off the back of his chair. He's got work at _Penney's_ later, so he might as well go straight there after dropping Sam at school.

_Penney's_ is the University Café that Dean's been helping out at since his very first lecture. An old family friend owns the Café, and Dean can't stand the idea of letting anyone down. Luckily though, it's good money – and Dean needs all the money he can get if he's going to be able to send Sam to Stanford in just over a year's time. Plus, Dean's gotta fix his Chevy now too, and there's no way that's gonna be cheap.

Dean curses, running out the house and climbing into the drivers seat of his Dad's old 'Soccer Mom' car; a 1984 Dodge Caravan Camper that rattles when you turn a bend.

"Sam!" He yells, sticking an elbow out the open window as pokes his nose out. "Hurry up!"

"Coming, coming.' Sam mumbles, just loud enough for Dean to hear, tripping over his things as he tumbles down the slanted driveway. "Chill out Dean." He laughs, clambering into the passenger seat and throwing his blue backpack into the back. Sam cocks his head to one side, deep green eyes shining humorously. "What?"

Dean creases his eyebrows together, his lips tight. All he wants is to do well by this damn kid. "Nothing." He smiles, caving in and flashing a grin in Sam's direction. He sets the car in reverse, ruffling Sam's hair as he throws his arm behind him to get a better view.

Dean struggles to concentrate as Sam tells stories and mishaps from the day before, filling Dean's eyes with tears of laughter when he goes into full detail about his friend Elliot and the incident with the urinal. Nothing seems to make Dean smile quite like journeys with Sam. Glancing at his brother out of the corner of his eye, he feels his chest swell as admires the man his little brother is shaping into.

* * *

Castiel stumbles up the brick pathway, breath caught in his chest as he bundles his scarf close to his jaw. The wind licks across his pale cheeks, scarring them with thick red marks; the unusual April day leaving his fingers stiff and numb, but Cas' mind is somewhere else completely.

Dean Winchester.

Ever since those gentle green eyes gleamed up at him, peeking out from beneath thick dark lashes, Castiel had rarely thought of anything but.

It wasn't that Cas had never met an achingly beautiful person before, he had – and many times at that. Cas smirks behind his scarf, blinking the water from his eyes as he pushes determinedly towards the café door. In fact, Cas can recall doing some rather _unsavory_ things with achingly beautiful people, and the thought of doing those things with Dean…

Cas shivers, not sure if the icy kisses left on his body were from the winter breeze or something else entirely.

Finally he reaches the big white door, his eyes widening as the nest of bustling elbows, coffee mugs and laughter fill every table, bench and stool. Castiel feels a weight in his stomach, shoulders slumping as he curls his lip in the direction of anyone who looks at him.

Cas really wanted it to be quiet. He wanted to sit in a nice corner with his poetry book and wait until Dean noticed he was here – Cas was even planning on showing him some poetry. But with all these ears prying, he didn't think Dean was likely to even notice him, let alone have time to sit and chat. Cas groans inwardly, squeezing past a small girl with red hair who seemed as if she was trying to bite the cherry stick out of another person's mouth. Rolling his eyes, he shoves himself into a corner and removes his coat.

Usually, Castiel is a people person. He's never had a problem with anyone without a just cause – the exception being that he didn't so much care for the idle chitchat of university students who think their entire life revolves around who's skinnier, who's sexier, or who's got the biggest muscles.

He knows he's too old to be here. At 23, even if he'd carried on with his course he wouldn't be here anymore. He's possibly the most senior citizen in the entire room – and he doesn't like it.

_Grandpa._

He bites his lip, disguising a ridiculous smile. _It's not at all courteous to laugh at one's own jokes, Castiel,_ he scolds himself, hearing his Mother's high pitched voice echoing in his head. He rolls his eyes, furrowing his eyebrows and letting his eyes scan over the spilt coffee stains and dried ketchup still stuck to the blue table top. His fingers fiddle with the silver piercing in his nose.

He yawns, then decides he should probably pretend to be proactive, so he digs around inside his cream trench coat pocket, fingers catching in the rips and tears. Finally, they happen upon the thin black notebook and he yanks it out and places it on the table. He unwraps the scarf from around his neck, revealing a small pair of black, square reading glasses folded into the neckline of his white t-shirt, and he carefully unfolds them and places them on the bridge of his nose. His pale blue eyes blink a few times, long eyelashes catching on the dark frames as he looks down at the notebook in front of him.

Castiel has always had a fondness with his haggard leather notebook, something about the way it only squeezed a few tangled scrawls of his barely distinguishable script across each line, the missing corner that left a raw tear across the cover – and he hasn't even began to think about the words he's written inside. He could spend hours, days perched at a table with an old fountain pen and this particular notebook - and Castiel doubts he would have it any other way.

"Cas?" A deep voice rasps, startling Castiel as he blinks, wide-eyed, trying to regain his thoughts.

"Yes, yes, sorry-" Cas stops, eyes fixing on a familiar face, one now painted with an amused smile that made deep green eyes shine like copper coins found at the bottom of the sea. Cas swallows with a dry click in the back of his throat, frowning slightly as he felt the heat creep into his cheeks. Thank god for the cold wind to blame the pinkness on, he thinks, attempting to slow his frantic heart. "Dean? Y-you startled me."

Dean laughs, a hearty sound that shook his shoulders as he places a hand on Cas' shoulder and squeezes it gently. "Sorry, buddy. What are you doing here?"

Cas' eyes move across Dean's arm: up the pale blue shirt that stretched taut against the biceps; across a chest where buttons, pulled until fit to burst, hung on to the fabric - daring the others to let go. The hand that wasn't in immediate contact with Castiel's shoulder, the left one, was balancing precariously a tray with six beer bottles, three wine glasses and a stack of empty starter dishes. The muscles in that wrist must be –

"Cas, really? Did the cold freeze your brains inside out?"

"Something like that." Cas frowns up at Dean, pursing his lips together and pushing his glasses back up his nose with a finger.

Dean laughs again, shaking his head. "Want a coffee? I'm sure I can convince Bobby to give you one on the house." Dean removes his hand from Cas' shoulder to point behind him with his thumb.

"I don't want you to go through any trouble, Dean, I can pay-"

"Shut up, asshat. We're friends now right? No trouble." Dean flashes a glaringly beautiful smile at Cas, and Cas feels every core of himself melt. This guy was going to kill him sooner or later.

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiles again, this time a little softer, before turning and heading over to the bar. Cas smiles down at the table, his notebook catching his eye as he flips through the pages with his fingers. He comes across a page he's been looking at for a while, another tattoo he's considering getting. Its prose is one of his favorites, a Shakespeare quote no less, and he can envision it perfectly in the centre of his back, just below the tattoo across his shoulders. He reaches out a finger to stroke the edge of the page thoughtfully, remembering the feeling of needles against skin, the satisfaction of seeing such beautiful artwork that feels so possessively yours.

Castiel leans his head back and closes his eyes, rolling his shoulders back and scrunching them in the middle. He sighs, slouching again but this time leaning back against the chair.

"'_Hell is empty and all the devils are here'_?" Dean asks, peering over his shoulder. He angles his head slightly; eyebrows creased as he flicks his gaze towards Castiel.

"A tattoo I'm considering." He answers casually, trying to fold the notebook away and back into his pocket.

Dean raises his eyebrows, shakes his head and hides a grin; all in the space of the three seconds it takes him to sit down and push a coffee at Castiel. Cas looks up, feeling the warmth of the coffee under his nose as he wraps his fingers gingerly around the mug.

"Thank you." Cas holds Dean's gaze, the corners of his mouth pressing gently into his cheeks.

"S'okay, man. I really like your ink by the way."

Cas looks down at his bare arms, stretching them out in front of him a little. He feels his chest puff out with pride as he grins down at the artwork he helped design.

Dean, obviously pleased he'd made Cas happy, relaxes back in his chair and crosses his arms.

"Thank you. Would you like to know more about them? Most people are intrigued."

"Only if you wanna share." Dean held out an upturned hand, before lifting it and scratching his forefinger against his jaw with a surprisingly interested smile.

Cas frowns gently at this adorable, clean, almost too-perfect guy in front of him. He feels his nostrils flare slightly, closing his mouth and licking his chapped lips. "Well," he holds out his right arm, palm upturned on the table, and points with his left forefinger at the black cross. The cross runs the length of his forearm, the two lines intersecting much closer to his hand than his elbow, with a white line bordering the inside. It's dead straight and remarkably plain, yet Cas finds himself drawn to this one frequently. "This cross was my first. I drew it when I was seventeen, and got it done as soon as I was legal. The plainness of it reminds me of how black and white things should be, but the ambiguity of such a cross reminds me of who my parents wanted me to be, and who I really am. I have a strange fondness for this tattoo." Cas glances up, and when he sees Dean's stare fixed intently on his mouth he feels a tug in his lips as he tries to hide yet another smile. He angles his left shoulder at Dean, looking over it and points to a symbol on the lower half of his bicep. The symbol looks like a Wiccan version of a treble clef, painted with deep blue ink and white highlights. "This is a biblical symbol that means 'embrace life'. This one was my second tattoo, and possibly the one my parents disliked the most. They thought I was using the Bible incorrectly." Cas snorts, raising an eyebrow. "The Bible is supposed to be interpreted in whichever way the beholder sees fit."

Dean shakes his head, a thick grin plastered across his face. "You just made the Bible sound a hell of a lot more interesting than anyone I've ever met. And believe me, people have tried." Dean raises a dark eyebrow, leaning his elbow on the table and pressing his cheek against his hand. He looks at Castiel with those stunning green eyes, one corner of his mouth upturned and showing just the slightest hint of pearly white teeth. Cas looks down, biting down on his lip to avoid a full-blown smile. If Cas weren't certain that Dean was unreservedly straight, he could have sworn those eyes were flirting.

"I didn't know you wore glasses." Dean says, poking Castiel's shin with the toe of his dark boots. Cas feels his cheeks grow hot as he pushes them back onto the bridge of his nose.

"Damn things are too big for me." He mumbles, eyes shining with humor as he leans his forearms on the table and ever closer to Dean.

Dean laughs, the hearty sound booming around inside Cas' ears and teasing his mouth into a smile. "Well, they suit you Cassie." Dean winks playfully.

Cas' cheeks flush, again – he was really starting to make a habit out of this. Or rather, Dean was really starting to make a habit out of his blushing cheeks. He mutters a thank you whilst glancing down at his fumbling fingers, not quite sure how to react to the simple compliment.

Dean's hand reaches over the table and rests against Castiel's arm. Cas feels his heart beat in his mouth as he feels the warmth radiate against him. He tries vigorously to remember the last time he had this much chemistry with someone, perhaps Andy? No, not even close. Dean makes his body react in a way he's never experienced before; it's such a shame the feeling is rather unrequited. Cas lifts his eyes up to Dean's, turning only one corner of his mouth into a half-hearted smile.

"Dean! Get your ass back here son and stop flirting with pretty boy!" A large man with a gruff Texas accent and a messy beard yells across the room.

Dean waves a hand in his direction, sighing and leaning across the table. He picks up Cas' pen and notebook, scrawls a number into a blank page and pushes them back towards Castiel.

"I guess Bobby needs me. Give me a call, we can try and arrange to do some double shifts at the Roadhouse next week okay?" Dean stands up with a grin, slapping Cas on the back and making his whole body jerk forward. He swallows dryly and nods at Dean, glassy-blue eyes wide and shining.

He turns and walks towards the bar; leaving Cas in possibly the most flustered state he's ever been in. It feels worse than that time his Mother walked in on him with his high school boyfriend, Drew, and that was horrific by anyone's standards.

But there was a difference this time.

Castiel can't stop smiling like a lovesick fool.


	2. Part II

**Part III**

* * *

"Sammy, would you stop messing around?" Dean chuckles, flapping a blundering hand towards his little brother's goofy grin.

Sam leans forward, the sound of a stretching seatbelt echoing through Dean's ears before he hears a deep chortle from the back of Sam's throat.

"Sam!" Dean threatens, though a smile still tugs at the corners of his cheeks.

Sam glances at Dean through deep green eyes, perfect white teeth flashing from behind a cheeky smile. "Sorry Dean. I just like to make you laugh." He turns to face Dean more, and Dean glances away from the road to frown at Sam. "You don't laugh enough."

Dean rolls his eyes, pushing his brothers face with the palm of his hand, forcing a disgruntled 'hey!' as Sam fights back, laughing as he shoves Dean's arm.

"Hey, Sam; watch it. I _am_ driving, remember." Dean raises an eyebrow.

Sam sighs, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms. His eyes flick to the road ahead, scanning the skyline before he scrunches up his lips and taps his fingers against his arm.

"Put the damn music on if you're bored!"

Sam's face lights up as he reaches into the seat behind Dean, pulls out an old brown CD folder and unzips it. His fingers graze across each page, flicking from disc to disc. He hovers over the Led Zeppelin CD, before biting his lip and flicking again. He considers, for a second, Pink Floyd - but shakes his head and moves on.

There.

A smile creeps across Sam's face as he caresses the case, pulling out the old CD and placing it carefully in the player. The battered old Dodger sputters it's CD player to life and fills the car with sounds of dirty guitars and drum kits.

"The Ramones? Nice." Dean nods, tilting a raised eyebrow in Sam's direction.

Sam's grins, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the headrest.

Dean glances at his little brother again. _Little. _Dean really ought to stop calling him that. He feels a smile pull across his face, a building feeling in his chest growing until suddenly he hears his voice dance around the car with splutters of laughter coming from Sam, and before they know it they're both screaming 'What A Wonderful World'.

Suddenly, Sam gasps, long arms reaching out for the steering wheel as he yelps, "Dean! Look out!"

Dean's smile disappears from his face as he feels the car hurtle towards the edge of the old wooden bridge. The bridge is directly after a sharp turn underneath the rock archway, passing over a shallow river a couple hundred feet below. Dean yanks the car to the left, aiming the bonnet towards the centre of the bridge and slamming his foot on the brake. The car skids to a halt, dust and sand filling the air.

"Shit, Sam." Dean gasps, eyes wide as he stares at the valley beside them.

Sam gulps, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes. Dean can almost see Sam's heart beating through his chest and glances down to check his own. He sighs, running a hand through short hair.

"Sam, don't you remember all the stories about this bridge huh? I know, you said it earlier – you like to make me laugh," Dean holds up a hand in response to Sam's defensive glare, "but not on this bit alright? It ain't for no reason over 50 people have driven through that fence." Dean raises one corner of his mouth, reaching out to grab Sam's shoulder.

Sam nods slowly. "Sorry."

Dean laughs, "No, Sammy, it wasn't your fault – I meant… be careful, okay?" Dean relaxes as he sees Sam roll his eyes, before he takes a deep breath in and grins.

"Still got half an hour left before we get home, Dean. And hey - don't you have a date tonight?" Sam winks, punching Dean's arm.

"Piss off." Dean mumbles, hiding a smirk as he starts up the Dodger and hits the gas.

* * *

Castiel can't breathe.

He literally cannot pull the necessary air into his lungs; it's impossible.

And it's so stupid.

Castiel is standing outside the front door to Dean's house, his sharp knuckles hovering. All he has to do is tap them three times against the wood.

But he _can't breathe_.

Dean doesn't like him the way Castiel wants him to, and that's okay. He'd rather have him as a friend than nothing anyway.

It's been over four months since they met at the roadhouse, and Castiel can barely remember more than a day passing without speaking to Dean. But every time he's standing here, on Dean's porch, at the start of what anybody who didn't know better would consider a date – Castiel just can't breathe.

He thinks it might be Dean. He can only really breathe properly with Dean now, without him he feels a little, well…lost. And being so close yet still alone is like a noose tightening around his neck.

He tries again; forcing strangled air into his chest as he closes his eyes, gulps and rams his fist hard.

Almost instantly, Dean opens the door with a big white grin. His green eyes shine in the low light of the setting summer sun and Castiel feels his cheeks grow hot as those eyes stare back into his.

"Hey, Cas!" Dean licks his lips, excitement brewing in his eyes as he grabs his friend's shoulder and pulls him inside. He pushes him forward, before turning and closing the blue door.

Castiel's eyes widen as he stutters, breath caught in his throat.

Dean's not wearing any pants.

He's standing there in a blue check shirt done up half way, white Calvin Klein boxers and odd socks - but no pants.

Dean waves a hand in Castiel's face, "Dude, I need to finish getting ready okay? Two secs." He runs up the stairs, muscular, tanned legs taking them two at a time. Castiel feels a smile stretch across his cheeks as he tilts his head and admires the glorious job those white boxers do…

"Hey there, Cas."

Castiel's heart stutters as he whips around, a careful shade of pink highlighting his cheeks. A tall, dark haired boy stood in front of him, broad shoulders shaking as he laughs at what must be a deer-in-the-headlights expression on Castiel's face. He groans inwardly.

"Hi Sam." He replies quietly, raising an eyebrow. The big guy, and that really is the only way to describe who stood before him, laughs and shakes his head. "Haven't seen you for a while Cas, what's it been - 3 days?" he teases, grinning ever so slightly down at Castiel.

Cas smiles, laughing as he feels his insides relax a little before expelling a trapped wisp of air. "Perhaps."

"So Dean's taking you on a date, huh?" Sam jokes, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow with a cheeky grin on his face. Castiel frowns, holding up a hand as he starts to argue but Sam carries on. "Well, whatever you do – don't distract him when he's driving. He nearly drove us off the edge of a cliff earlier!"

"Shut it, short bus." Castiel hears a voice from behind him, a deep, low grumbly voice that makes Castiel think of echoing gasps and moans. A sharp hit like a knife threatens in his stomach as he moans deep in his throat. Footsteps bound towards him and he feels a warm hand on his shoulder. He swallows with a dry click, desperately trying to compose himself.

Sam frowns at Dean. "Jerk."

Dean just winks, "Bitch," he says quietly, a glint so playful in his eyes that even Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah well, don't be too loud tonight boys." Sam raises his eyebrows and pats Dean's arm, before walking into the kitchen.

Dean rolls his eyes, "Ignore him, Cas." He nudges Castiel's side with an elbow, forcing a low giggle out of the pit of his stomach. "Come on, did you decide what movie you wanna see yet?"

Dean heads towards the door, laughing as Cas shakes his head and follows in his footsteps.

"It's a good job I looked then. That Jack Reacher film looks pretty good? Plus, Tom Cruise is in it." Dean opens the door and holds it for Cas, who mumbles a thank you as he steps over the frame. Dean frowns, eyebrows creasing the centre of his forehead.

"What, not a Tom Cruise fan?"

Cas looks up with a start, realizing his nervousness must be coming across as boredom. He shakes his head, "No, I like Tom Cruise Dean. It's just, your brother... I'm worried he thinks-"

Dean holds up a hand, rolling his eyes and smirking. "Cas, Sammy's great. He thinks you're great. Stop worrying. Plus, that crazy kid looks up to me for some unknown reason, so if I like you then he will by default." He heads over to his black Impala and leans against the driver's side door. "Can we go have a good night now?"

Castiel smiles, nodding a little more vigorously as he hurries to the passenger door. He opens it and slips in, his back grazing against the cool leather. He turns to smile at Dean, who offers an overly enthusiastic wink before starting the car and revving the powerful engine. Cas laughs, watching Dean control the car. He slots into it like this is his home. He's never seen Dean so relaxed, and he feels himself relaxing with him.

"Finally got my Baby up and running again," Dean grins, barely able to contain his swelling pride as he pushes 'Baby' into fourth gear as they head towards the highway, "took me hours. This is the first time I've taken her out properly for months – count yourself lucky." Dean teases, smirking at Cas out of the corner of his eye.

Castiel smiles. "I do."

Dean frowns at him, a smile still on his lips but a more intrigued look in his eyes. But it's only there for a second, because Castiel blinks and Dean's back to nodding his head in time to '_Ramble On'_.

When they get to the cinema, Dean heads straight for the popcorn, making Castiel laugh as he exclaims that popcorn is the best thing about going to the movies.

"I'll buy the popcorn Dean, you go get the tickets." Castiel takes it from Dean's hands, nodding his head in the direction of the ticket stand. Dean grins before fumbling in his pocket for some cash as strides past Castiel.

Cas sighs, a smile hurting his cheeks. Dean's just so damn cute.

"Just those two?"

"Uh, yes." Castiel blinks at the short, rather rotund man who stands in front of him.

"$8.00 then."

Castiel slides the money over the desk and smiles politely. He takes his popcorn and scans the cinema for Dean, sharp eyes darting around for that familiar face. He spots him pretty quickly – his large brown leather jacket standing out as one of a kind. Cas takes a deep breath and makes his way through the relentless elbows of an unruly crowd.

"Got them?" Cas asks, bumping into Dean slightly with his hip as a screaming teenage girl hurtles past them. Dean laughs, holding out a hand to steady him. Cas smiles slightly, eyes glued to the floor.

"Nah," Dean grabs a handful of his popcorn and engulfs it. "Sold out. You pick." Dean grins as wide as he can with a mouth full of food. Cas watches Deans pink tongue dart out and lick the salt from his lips. He shakes himself, tearing his eyes from Dean and glancing at the screen.

"Iron Man three is on?" Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean. He's not about to tell Dean about his on-going crush with Robert Downey Jr, but Dean's eyes light up as he nods enthusiastically.

"Yeah, okay man." Dean steps up to the desk and places enough money for two tickets on the surface. Castiel runs his eyes down the hard muscles on Dean's back, pretending not to imagine his fingers digging in to that soft, tanned skin.

Dean turns around, two tickets in his hand and a boyish expression on his face. He walks back towards Cas, taking one of the red and white striped popcorn buckets from his hands and winking. "Ready? It's on in ten minutes, we might as well go find some seats?"

Cas nods, struggling to stop admiring the gentle features of Dean's face. He sighs internally. He loves Dean's playful, flirty side, and he's seen more of it in the last week or so due to Dean having a couple weeks off. He's spent most of the days with Cas, and the one's Cas has had to endure without Dean had been spent with Sam. Sometimes, that worried Cas. He worried that Dean's happy-go-lucky attitude was a big façade, that he only ever spent time with Cas and his little brother. Sure, Dean had plenty of friends in school, and Jo was so obviously in love with him it even made Cas jealous. But Dean spent his spare time with Cas and Sam, and Cas was always stuck between being extremely flattered and extremely worried.

They head into the dark cinema, elbows bumping into one another as they make their way through the cluster of seats and impatient eyes. Dean nods his head in the direction of two seats in the back corner, waiting for Cas to agree quietly before heading to the one against the wall and flopping into the chair. He grins up at Castiel, green eyes reflecting the light of the relentless adverts as he chews a piece of popcorn in his slightly open mouth. Cas rolls his eyes, a deep laugh echoing in his chest as settles down in the seat next to Dean.

They spend most of the time with eyes glued to the screen, elbow-deep in popcorn as the action-packed movie unfurls before their eyes. Deans simple laugh fills the room with a happiness rather profound, but his sharp frowns fill Castiel with a pain so disconnected from the movie that he almost reaches out to take his hand – almost, but not quite.

The credits roll and Castiel stands up, only to feel a warm, strong hand on his wrist yank him back down again.

"If we wait 'til the credits are over, Stan Lee comes on!" Dean whispers excitedly, leaning in closer to Cas as he nods his head slightly at the screen.

Cas swallows dryly, but smiles and nods as he settles back down.

He finds it odd that Dean has left his hand resting gently against his own.

* * *

They stumble into the quiet house later that evening, the sun long gone having left the sky to descend into inky blue. Dean grins as he closes the door behind his friend, keeping his voice quiet as he pushes Cas into the living room and onto the grey sofa.

Cas sits up, edging himself into the corner of the sofa as he lets his eyes follow Dean into the kitchen, watching him as he crouches next to the open fridge and pulls out two bottles of El Sol. He straightens out again, letting his fingers linger on the fridge door as he tilts his head at the contents of their fridge.

"Want anything to eat, Cas?"

Cas stands up, heading over to the fridge and pushing Dean away from it slightly. He eyes its contents for a moment, feeling a burning sensation on the back of his neck that sends shivers down his spine. Castiel blinks a few times, clearing his throat. "I'll make us something, if you like. I enjoy cooking."

Dean hesitates, stepping a little closer to Cas so that he can feel the rise and fall of Dean's chest against his back. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Dean seems to change his mind, stepping away with a shrug. "Sure, Cas." Dean's voice is low and gruff, and Cas aches to hear it moan. But damn, his friend was as straight as he was beautiful. Cas frowns, sighing, as he picks out the ingredients needed to make Dean's favourite: apple pie. At least he can still make him smile.

"Cas, do I see tinned apple and pastry over there? You making me a pie?" Dean grins, flopping on the sofa. He lay long-ways across it, face turned in the direction of the kitchen with his arm swung over the back.

Cas laughs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck. "Your Father won't mind, I assume?"

"Dude, are you kidding? He loves pie. He'll throw you a fucking party." Dean gulps another third of his beer, and Cas frowns. He was happy, yeah, but Dean seemed to be chugging that thing like there was no tomorrow.

Something was wrong.

"Where is your Dad, Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean looks at Cas, eyes wide with fake disinterest.

"Your Father. Is he home?"

Dean squirmed slightly, looking at the floor. "He's uh, he's out 'til like 6am, on a job."

Somehow, Castiel didn't believe him.

Cas decided the best thing to do was to make the pie while Dean watched TV and got himself drunk. Cas had a few sips of his own beer, but quickly forgot about it as he focused on making the pastry lie in lines across the top. He wanted to do it right, for Dean.

He places the pie in the oven and sets the timer, grabbing his beer as he pushes Dean's legs off the sofa and sits next to him. Dean grins a full-of-liquid-confidence grin, and Cas rolls his eyes. But he can't stop smiling.

"Down it, Cas."

"What?"

"Your beer. Down it."

Cas frowns. "Why?"

Dean laughs. "Because asshat, it's fun."

Cas thinks he should probably look after his friend, his only-just-legal friend, who was well on his way to being very drunk if he kept up the pace. And Cas knew from experience how unpleasant that could be. But he found that one look at Dean's gleaming, playful eyes made him want to join him in feeling a little, well, freedom. "Fine."

Dean laughs raising his eyebrows and jumping off the sofa. He ducks into the fridge and pulls out a six-pack, then leans into the cabinet and grabs a bottle of Smirnoff. "Well then, Cas. Let's get drunk."

Cas laughs, holding his beer up to his lips before gulping down the entire thing.

An hour, maybe two, passed and empty beer bottles, three or four smashed shot glasses and an almost burnt but nearly-all-gone apple pie surround a now drunken Dean and Cas.

Dean lay on his back, head in Castiel's lap with his eyes closed. Cas' eyes swim as he frowns at the chuckling man-boy in his lap, finding the urge to run his fingers through that thick dark hair almost unbearable.

"Cas?" Dean slurs, peeking through one eye.

Castiel smiles down at Dean, eyebrows raised.

"I haven't had this much fun in ages." Dean slurs, grinning toothily as he rolls over and sits up. "Sometimes, I feel…"

Dean trails off. Castiel frowns, cocking his head to one side. He watches Dean sigh before running a hand through his hair. Cas finds himself biting his lip.

"Listen, I don't wanna be one of those 'depressing drunks'." Dean smiles at Cas. Cas hates that smile. He's come to know that when Dean smiles, his real smile, it's beautiful. It's bright and wide and almost always comes with a booming laugh. This smile was a ghost of the other, barely there and with a single, fake laugh. It was torturous.

"Dean…"

"Cas, I shouldn't have said anything. Let it go." Dean rolls his eyes, standing up and pushing past Cas. "Come on, we should probably go to bed. I'm gonna have hell to pay tomorrow with this mess."

Cas' eyes follow Dean out of the room, watching his slumped shoulders as he stumbles towards the door.

Castiel sits quietly for a moment, looking at the cups and plates around him with an exasperated sigh. He stands up, slowly, and reaches around the room, placing glass in the bin, cups in the sink and the leftover pie in the fridge. He's just turning off the TV when Dean pokes his head back round the door with a frown.

"You coming?" Dean asks, before noticing the stacked plates and the notable emptiness of the coffee table and his expression softens. "Cas, you didn't have-"

"I wasn't going to let you get in trouble, Dean."

Dean sighs, scratching his bare arm. "Come on." He smiles at Castiel, struggling to hide a yawn.

Castiel laughs, using the back of the sofa to steady himself as he staggers over to Dean.

Dean trips up the stairs, holding in laughs as he pulls himself up the banister, Cas whispering a giggled 'Shh!' every time he falls. Eventually they reach the top, and Cas pushes Dean into his room.

"Good night, Dean." He smiles, watching Dean sit on his blue double bed and yawn.

"Wait – where are you going?" Dean slurs, a frown disguising his features.

Cas stares for a moment, crinkling his eyebrows. "To, uh, to the guestroom. Where I usually sleep, Dean."

"Don't leave me."

Cas frowns. "Why?"

Dean stands up, leaning against the doorframe as he reaches out with one hand to Castiel's arm.

"Just, don't leave me tonight."

Cas sighs. Tonight was going to be difficult. How could he spend the night in Dean's room and not touch him? How could he be so close yet so far? And with this liquid intoxication, he knew he was likely to do something stupid - like crawling into that comfortable double bed with him.

But one look at Dean's face and Cas could tell he needed his friend.

So yeah, tonight was going to be rough.

"Shall I get the mattress?" Cas asks quietly, looking behind himself and down the hall. He could see the spare mattress in the study-turned-guest-room, and tried to figure out the best way to get it to fit in between Dean's bed and the wardrobe. He frowns as he hears Dean's gruff chuckle. "What?" He whispers turning back with a confused frown.

"My bed's big enough for two, Cas." He smiles. "That is, if you don't mind sharing?"

Castiel stares at Dean for a moment, Dean's cheeky grin darkened by tired green eyes. Cas sighs. "Are you sure we'll both fit?"

Dean nods, stepping away from Cas and crawling under the covers. Cas watches him with narrowed eyes. "Dean…"

"Oh, come on Cas. We're two grown men, we can share a damn bed!" He laughs, his voice raising a little.

His heart beats fast and heavy in his chest.

"I guess… If it won't be weird?" _for you,_ Cas thinks, pursing his dry lips and frowning slightly.

Dean leans over and grabs Castiel's hand. "Sam shares my bed sometimes, and you're like a brother to me. Look, it's not weird – can you just get in? I'm freezing."

Cas wasn't cold, in fact he was too hot. He wondered if Dean was lying, but why would he? Dean had no reason to want Castiel to keep him warm.

He sighs, stepping closer to the bed and shoving Dean over with a free hand. He climbs under the covers, lying on his side so that he's facing away from Dean. He can feel Dean's warmth behind him, the steady rise and fall as his drunk friend falls asleep so quickly Cas has to hold back a disgruntled chuckle.

Cas doesn't have as much luck as Dean with falling asleep. He struggles to stay still when Dean rolls over and places an arm over Castiel's middle. He can't breathe with the heat as Dean wraps a leg through his own. His mind races, tossing and turning one word over and over again. _Brother. 'Like a brother'_. Dean meant it as a compliment, he knew that, and Castiel could see how much Sam meant to Dean. If Castiel was being honest, he doubted there was little else as important as Sam to Dean. And Dean had just compared them. So he knew that it should have been a wonderful compliment.

But Cas didn't think of Dean like a brother.

He was so much more than that.

* * *

Dean woke up, covered in sweat and a god-awful headache pounding through his ears. He groans, rolling onto his back and kicking the blanket away from him. He yawns, stretches then turns his head to look for water. But instead he freezes.

Cas is lying next to him, shirtless, dark hair as ruffled as he's ever seen it, his quiet breath tickling Dean's cheek. He's lying on his side, one arm tucked neatly under his cheek. Dean hesitates, aching to touch the large feathers delicately etched across his back, over his shoulders and down his bicep. They look…remarkable. Like wings. Dean's surprised by how much Castiel's tattoos suit him. The detailed feathers, the peaceful expression, the tickling against his cheek. Dean can't help but compare Cas to, of all things, an angel.

_Angel_. Dean smiles. _How ironic he would find that._

He can't remember much from last night, and he worries for a moment that perhaps…

Dean frowns.

No.

He wouldn't have taken advantage of a drunk Castiel, he's sure of it.

Dean squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, images of the two of them sharing pie and racing to drink more shots than the other coming back to him in giddy bursts. He smiles, a large grin stretching across his face.

"Good morning." Castiel growls, his voice so deep it makes Dean jump.

"Son of a – Cas! You fucking terrified me!" Dean frowns, letting out a nervous laugh.

Cas chuckles, rolling onto his back and lying with his arms above his head. "Sorry Dean. Did you sleep well?"

Dean's eyes trace along Castiel's stomach. His stomach is plain, the tattoos extend across his arms and a few on his chest – but his toned stomach is bare. Dean smiles, letting his eyes flick from the tattoo just below Cas' left collarbone, a simple, single-lined pentagram, to the words carved into his left arm. They're on the underside, only noticeable by somebody who could stretch Castiel's arm out and read from the underside of his bicep to the edge of his wrist. Dean frowns.

"Dean, are you really that hung-over?" Cas teases, raising a dark eyebrow at Dean.

Dean groans. "Well, I wish I hadn't drank so much-" Dean sits bolt upright, muttering under his breath as he scrambles off of the covers and rushes to the door.

Cas sits up, reaching over and enclosing Dean's wrist inside a grip of strong, delicate fingers. "Dean?"

"My Dad, the mess, he's gonna-"

"I cleaned that up last night. Don't you remember?"

Dean frowns, running his free hand through his tangled hair. He remembers tripping a little down the stairs, using the doorframe to support himself as he poked his head round. He remembers watching Castiel place cups in the sink, leaning over to turn off the TV before his bright blue eyes found Dean watching him. He remembers how he'd never realized just how beautiful Castiel's eyes were before that moment. "Yeah, uh, I remember."

Cas smiles, pushing the covers away and hanging his legs over the edge of the bed. Dean swallows dryly. Cas is sitting on his bed, in only his boxers, and they had gotten really drunk and spent the night in the same bed. _Well, I'll be damned_, Dean rolls his eyes, opening his wardrobe doors and at least pretending to find a pair of jeans to throw on. He tosses an old, dark pair at Cas, who catches them and tugs them on without saying a word. Dean smiles. There really was something so… different about Castiel.

Dean yanks on a pair of jeans too, and just in time, because Sam races into their room the next minute with such force that the cups of tea in his hands slosh everywhere. Sam grins as the tea drips down his hands, extending them towards Dean and Cas. Dean sighs, but can't help the smile spread across his face. Sammy had decided to make them tea, mainly to see what was going on, but the gesture was sweet all the same.

"How was your date?" He asks, a cheeky glint in his green eyes.

Dean rolls his eyes, taking the tea and pushing his brother back through the door with his foot. "Shut up, Sammy."

"Dean, it's Sam. I'm 15 for Gods sake! And I'm old enough to find out how your date went!"

"It wasn't a god-damn date Sam!" Dean said, his voice louder but not quite shouting. He still didn't fancy waking his Dad, if his Dad was even home from wherever he was last night...

Sam pouts, before tensing his jaw and rolling his eyes. "Whatever." He mutters, turning away and stomping back to his room.

Cas just sits on the bed, sipping his tea.

Dean sits next to him, heart beating fast. He really didn't want to make Cas uncomfortable, and with his little brother blabbing about them dating all the time he sure as hell thought Cas would have done a runner by now. Most guys would have.

"Cas… I'm really sorry. Sam just… he takes things the wrong way. He thinks because we're good friends that we're automatically dating. He's so… open about things, you know? And he's like, not judgmental. So he's not afraid to assume that we like each other when we're really just mates… I mean, look, I don't want to make you uncomfortable and-"

"It's fine, Dean." Cas stares at his tea, shoulders slumped. They're still bare, and Dean takes a few seconds to admire the wings again.

"Cas…"

"It's fine. I should probably go. I have a shift at The Roadhouse in an hour."

Dean frowns as Cas stands up, watching him as he leans over and pulls on a dark blue hoody. When Cas' arms stretch out, the wings unfurl and follow his arm around. Dean thinks if Cas stood with his arms spread out he could have the most beautiful wings anyone has ever seen. Dean frowns, shaking himself. "He's just a kid, Cas. He doesn't know-"

"Dean, I've said it's fine. We've just had this conversation. To repeat the words you said to me last night, let it go."

"But-"

Dean stops as he stares up at Castiel. His face is set and his eyes are blank as he runs a hand through dark hair. He sighs, before turning and stepping quietly out of Deans door, and Dean can see him as he walks over to the stairs.

What the hell had gotten into him?

* * *

Castiel walks back to his empty apartment, not looking forward to the stifling heat that waited inside those doors. In the middle of summer his flat was stuffy and dingy, mainly because he couldn't afford air conditioning. It was bad enough when he moved into this new place a few months before he met Dean, an apartment in the backend of nowhere, when he stopped being able to afford his rent. This flat was grey, and dark, and he felt grateful for his tattooed and pierced appearance when he walked home alone at night. He knows how vulnerable he looks walking through back-alleys, and most of the time he had his hood up to cover his face.

He'd never taken Dean to this flat. He didn't want to. He was ashamed of the mouldy, rotten ceiling and the stains he'd tried endlessly to scrub out of the carpets.

Sometimes Castiel wishes he could have just been patient with his parents. But money isn't worth the emptiness they made him feel. And so he carries on, trying to sell his poetry and scraping by with two jobs.

He scuffs his shoes against the pavement, eyes trained to following the cracks in the pavement.

It's not easy being a writer.

But when he met Dean, he forgot about the lack of money in his life. He'd spend hours, days at Dean's house – but usually when Dean's father wasn't in.

John was a rather... _intimidating_ man, and Castiel suspected he didn't always treat Dean or Sam with the respect a Father should treat his Sons. But it wasn't Castiel's place to say anything, he just wished he could help. Sometimes, when Dean rang him up complaining that his Dad was threatening to kick him out again, Castiel wanted to tell him to stay here, to live with him until it all blew over. He'd love nothing more than Dean's company to add light to his dark apartment. But he kept quiet. Invited him out for a few hours – to the park, or to the cinema. Never to his apartment. He couldn't bear the idea of Dean's face as he walked into the grotty thing, mouth turned up involuntarily in disgust. But most of all, Castiel didn't want Dean's pity. It was his own fault he lived in a place like this, and he was going to live with it.

But that didn't mean he wasn't allowed to be utterly ashamed by it.

Cas hears the faint echo of his ringtone coming from his pocket and frowns. He pulls out his old Nokia and squints at the screen.

'Incoming Call: Dean'

Cas sighs, pressing the 'ignore' button and shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

He didn't want to explain to Dean why he was upset.

He didn't want to explain how he didn't care that Sam was calling it a date, because he loved to pretend it was.

And most of all, he didn't want to tell his best friend just how hopelessly he had fallen for him.

Castiel sulks quietly as he drags his feet.

If he wasn't so afraid of losing Dean, he probably would have said something months ago. But now... He'd grown too fond of his friends company, and the thought of life without Dean just seemed so... pointless.

He feels a buzz in his pocket and pulls out his phone again.

DEAN

- Sorry Cas. Can we talk? Pizza at mine l8r?

CAS

- NOTHING 2 TLK ABOUT. ITS FINE.

DEAN

- Dont lie 2 me Cas.

CAS

- IM NOT, ITS FINE. JUST BUSY. SPK L8R.

Cas sighs, one shoulder resting against the wall of his building.

Castiel always had been a terrible liar.


	3. Part III

**Part III**

* * *

Dean found himself lost beneath the hood of a car, nothing but the sound of engines and metal-on-metal filling his ears.

After Cas had seemingly thrown a hissy fit, Dean had decided the best way to put it out of his mind was to spend his Sunday afternoon at _Bobby's Auto Salvage_, trying to fix up a few of the old Mustangs and Maserati's in the peace and quiet. He liked being alone with his thoughts sometimes; Dean wasn't one to share his life story with anybody who asked.

Sam already knew what had happened, so there was no point talking to him. Besides, he was fifteen-years-old and there was no way Dean was about to go and complain to him about his issues.

Cas would be his second option, but, well…

Bobby was the only other person he would speak to. He was more like a father than John had been lately; he even wanted to help Dean get John back on his feet. He knew, after dealing with the loss of his own wife, Karen, what Jon was going through. But he also knew that after fourteen years, John really ought to step up and be the father his kids needed.

Not that Dean really needed a Dad anymore.

It was for Sam. Little Sam, who needed somebody strong and capable to take care of him. Dean wanted to believe he was enough, but he knew he wasn't. He's not a Dad, he's just a kid too – and Sammy was so grown up for his age that even he could see that. But he's not grown up enough to take care of himself if something happened to Dean.

Dean flexes his muscles, stretching out and reaching for a wrench. He gets to work on a loose screw and concentrates on the sound of distant chatter.

"Dean, are you gonna spend the entire time with your nose under that car or are you gonna tell me what's happened?" Bobby crouches down beside him, sticking his head beneath the car and frowning at Dean with pursed lips.

"Bobby-"

"Listen, boy – you only come here on your days off when something's wrong. So, spit it out. What is it?"

Dean pushes himself from out under the car, wiping the grease from his hands on an old cloth in his pocket. He sighs, getting to his feet and sitting on the bonnet of the 1969 Maserati Ghibli. Bobby perches next to him, hands on his thighs as he raises an eyebrow at Dean.

"It's Cas… something's wrong, I think. He stormed off this morning and I don't really know why."

"Cas? As in the guy you been spendin' all your time with?"

Dean looks at his hands, not able to look Bobby in the eye.

"Dean… If you like this guy you should tell him. He's not gonna hang around."

Dean looks up at the scruffy man wearing a blue baseball cap sitting beside him, confusion written all over his face.

"How did you-?"

"I know you inside out, Dean. You treat him the way you treated Benny."

Dean raises his eyebrows, about to protest.

"Yes – I know all about Benny." Bobby interrupts, holding up a hand dismissively. "Stop worrying so much about what people think, if he makes you happy then you've got yourself somethin' special."

Dean frowns, biting his lip as he wrings his hands. "But, I don't even know if he likes me like that. Especially after the way he reacted this morning."

Bobby raises an eyebrow, waiting. "You mind explainin' that _before_ my damn funeral, boy?"

Dean sighs. "Sam was being a douchebag, pissing around and saying that we went on a date. Cas looked awkward so I set Sam straight, and Cas stormed off and refused to talk to me. I don't think he can stand the idea of people thinking that, you know, something's going on… I mean, Bobby - I think he's straight."

Bobby rolls his eyes. "Son, if you don't ask you'll never know."

Dean smiles halfheartedly. "I guess."

"Look, you finish up with this car if you want, but after that you really oughta talk to him. Any idea where he is?"

Dean shakes his head. He doesn't even know where Cas lives, but he had mentioned _The Roadhouse_. "He might be at Ellen's?"

"Then get your ass over there, you idjit." Bobby laughs, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder and smiling at him. Dean smiles back, grateful for some helpful advice for once.

Dean spends the next half an hour fiddling with the engine, before giving up and promising to return tomorrow. He left the _Salvage_ in a hurry, sending a wave in Bobby's direction as he drove past the main office.

Dean wonders how Bobby knew about Benny. Not even his own Dad had known about Benny, not that the son of a bitch pays much attention to his kids, anyway. Sam was the only one who knew properly, the only one who knew that Dean liked guys about as much as he liked girls. And now… well, he guesses Bobby must have just put two and two together; he was pretty smart for an old guy.

Dean feels a smile tug across his lips.

Bobby knew – and he didn't care. That was a great feeling.

Dean wonders how his dad would react. Probably with a lot of shouting, bottle throwing and door slamming. Dean sighs. His Dad was not the easiest person to talk to at the best of times.

Dean pulls up out front of _The Roadhouse_, getting out of his Chevy and closing the door with a gentle thud. He frowns, running a hand through his hair as he heads up the front steps and pushes through the door.

"Hey Ellen." Dean smiles at a short woman with long dark hair and brown eyes. She's elbow deep in hot water, scrubbing the bar top and looking at Dean with a big grin.

"Hey there, Dean. How's it going?" She places her sponge in the hot soapy water, drying off her hands with a ragged blue tea towel.

"I'm okay, actually. How are you and Jo? Haven't seen her around for a while."

"Hm, I'll bet you haven't," she laughs, raising a shaped eyebrow, "she misses you Dean. But we're both good."

Dean smiles a little shamefully at the floor. Ellen was right, he had been neglecting Jo a bit in favor of Castiel.

"Honey, I didn't say it so you could worry your pretty little head over it." Ellen laughs, walking out from behind the bar and sitting on a stool by the table covered in paperwork. "You didn't just pop in to see me, I assume?"

"Is uh, is Cas here?" Dean asks, shoving his hands in is pockets. Man, did he suck at being nonchalant.

Ellen smiles an all-knowing smile, nodding her head in the direction of the stairs. "Upstairs. With Jo. Go on, head on up."

"Thanks." Dean smiles, turning away from her and towards the stairs. "

"Don't forget you have a shift this Wednesday night though, okay?" She calls after him, her strong accent ringing around the room.

The bar was empty this time of day; Ellen closed it so that everyone could catch up on the cleaning and paperwork. He knew Castiel would have his head buried in the stuff, so he decided to convince him to stop by later. They could have a proper chat then.

Dean pushes open the door to the work room, a large cream room with a big wooden table and chairs in the middle. There are plenty of large windows and an old record player in the corner, which at this moment is playing songs from Elvis' Blue Hawaii. Dean smiles. It must have been Cas' choice.

"Cas?" He asks cautiously, as he knocks on the door and steps in. He gazes around the room until his eyes falter, catching hold of deep blue frowning back at him.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas, uh, can we talk?" He glances over at Jo, who's standing with her arms crossed and a rather putout expression on her face. "In private?" He raises his eyebrows.

Cas sighs, not taking his eyes away from Dean. He looks tired. "Of course. Jo, do you mind?"

Jo holds up her hands, walking out of the room and rolling her eyes at Dean as he sends her an apologetic smile. _I'd better find a way to make it up to her, _Dean thinks, taking in a deep breath and shutting the door.

"Cas…"

"Dean, do you mind if we sit?" Castiel asks, ice blue eyes piercing Dean's.

Dean swallows, noting how his throat feels like he's swallowed a whole bunch of razors. He nods, and sits down in one of the large wooden chairs. Cas sits next to him, hands fiddling in his lap.

Dean frowns at Cas. There was definitely something wrong, Dean just needed to figure out what.

"Why are you here?" Cas asks simply, glancing up from his hands to Dean's face.

"I know you're busy, Cas, that's why I just stopped by… You, uh, you seemed upset this morning and I just wanted to convince you to come around for pizza later. My Dad's still not back, and Sam's got a debate meeting tonight so it'll be quiet, and I really need to talk to you – but not here, it's a bad time and-"

Cas smiles up at Dean, reaching over and grabbing Deans arm. "Okay. I'd like that."

Dean holds his breath, watching Castiel's features relax as he leans back against the chair. "You seem worried." Cas frowns.

"You think? You ran off on me this morning, man."

"I know, I'm sorry. I just realized I was going to be late."

Dean sighs, listening to the gentle music echoing around him. How apt the choice of song is for the way he feels as he smiles at his best friend.

'_Take my hand, take my whole life too…'_

"Jo's upset with you, Dean." Cas says quietly. "She thinks you're ignoring her. I think you should prioritize your time with her." Castiel creases his eyebrows forming three little lines in the middle of his forehead, and Dean has to sit on his hands to stop him from smoothing them out with his thumb.

"Uh, yeah. I'm gonna do that today, I think."

"Well, like you said – I'm busy. Now is the opportune moment for you two to sort things out. I'll be at yours for six." Cas stands up, heading back over to his pile of papers on the side.

''_Cause I can't help falling in love with you…'_

Dean smiles. Standing up and murmuring a 'See you then', he shakes his head with a grin as he walks out the door.

Sometimes, Castiel was the most frustrating son of a bitch.

Dean spots Jo sulking in her room, eyes fixed intently on him.

"Decided to speak to me now, have you Dean?" She glares as he smiles at her, ice in her normally bitter-sweet voice.

Dean strides into her room and sits on the bed beside her.

"Jo, listen, I'm really sorry. It's just that Cas and I have gotten really close, and it's not you – I mean, I seem to be neglecting a lot of people in my life at the moment." Dean frowns, thinking of how little time he'd actually spent with Sam. "I don't mean to. It's an accident. In fact, I miss you Jo." He smiles apologetically.

She glares at him for a moment, before sighing. "It's great that you like him so much Dean," she smiles gently, her expression softening. "But I miss you, too. You can't forget about everyone else in your life just because you've found somebody great." She leans over and squeezes his knee. "I've known you since I was six and you were ten, Dean, and this is the longest we've gone without talking." She furrows her pretty eyebrows, brown eyes filled with worry. "Please don't push me away now."

Dean wraps his arms around Jo, pulling her close to his chest. She folds her arms around him too, slowly, settling her head on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jo." He says quietly, kissing her hair.

She laughs at him, pushing away. "Hey, what do you always say?"

Dean frowns, feeling a grin spread across his face as the realization hits. "No chick-flick moments."

"No chick-flick moments." She replies with a laugh. "Me and Ash are gonna hang out here tomorrow night, maybe watch a horror flick and stuff if you wanna come?" Her brown eyes gleam as she smiles at him.

"Sure. Guess I've been neglecting our horror nights then, if you actually have to invite me."

She punches Dean's arm, hard and nods. "Yep. And you're gonna have a lot of catching up to do."

Dean rubs his arm, grinning.

If Jo was punching him, then they were back to normal.

* * *

Cas steps carefully up to the old blue door, squinting at a pale yellow post-it note stuck below the brass knocker.

' – _Round back, Cas!'_

He smiles, shaking his head and heading over to the gate. His footsteps crunch into the dry gravel as he wraps his fingers around the black painted metal, pushing the gate with a squeak that echoes around the quiet estate.

"Dean?" He calls, peering past the red brick wall and into the secluded back garden. It was a beautiful summer evening – birds' singing as the sun sleeps low in the sky, the smell of cooking meat floating through the warm breeze. He edges around the side of the house, eyes trailing around the simple garden. In the corner, Dean has his back to Castiel, standing in front of a barbeque as he pokes sausages and steaks with a prong. He has the finger of one hand hooked through a belt loop on smart blue jeans, a crisp white shirt protected by a grey apron.

Castiel smiles.

"Hello." He calls again, louder this time as he treads across the freshly cut grass. Dean turns and smiles, his deep green eyes shining in the orange sun.

"Cas, hey. Seeing as it's such a nice evening I thought it'd be a shame to waste it, huh?"

Cas nods, sitting on one of the two wooden chairs either side of a small table. "It's a lovely idea. How's your hangover now?"

"It's pretty much gone, smart ass. But thanks for asking." Dean teases, rolling his eyes at Castiel's raised eyebrow.

"Well I'm glad you're not feeling rough. I remember some of the hangovers I've dealt with…" Cas trails off, frowning. He doesn't go out as much as he used to, but he didn't miss the mornings spent crouched over a toilet bowl.

"Nah, I'm fine. Plus, I've gotta keep up with my studying. My Architecture Moderation is in like a week." Dean scrunches his nose, flipping a steak. "How'd you like it – medium? Well done?"

"Medium-rare would be lovely, Dean." Castiel smiles, stretching his arms above his head as he leans back in the chair.

Dean frowns, peering at Castiel.

"What?"

"The tattoo, on your left arm. The one on the underside – what does it say?"

"Oh… um, it's a line from Psalm 91. When I moved out and left my parents and my siblings, I felt alone, like I had no one to protect me. But I remembered this quote and it helped me get through it all, and so I had it tattooed about a year ago." Cas moves his arm out in front of him, trailing a finger across the words. "It says 'He will shield you with his wings, He will protect you with his feathers. His faithful promises are your armor and protection – For He orders his angels to protect you wherever you go.' It was rather difficult to fit so much on one arm, that's why it stretches so far." Castiel smiles.

Dean scrunches his eyebrows close together, a hint of a smile on his lips. "It's a quote about angels?"

Castiel nods, "yes."

"I thought… I thought you didn't like all of that side of the Christianity… stuff?"

"Dean, angels are important. They are warriors of God. They remind us that we should fight for the things we believe in. I needed to believe that I was doing the right thing, so yes, I like the angel side of Christianity… 'stuff', as you put it." Cas smirks up at Dean, rolling his eyes as Dean shuffles his feet on the ground.

"Yeah, I guess. Is that why you have wings, too?"

"Pardon?"

"I saw them, last night. They're uh, really detailed." Dean raises the corner of his mouth at Castiel.

"Thank you. No, that's a very long story. Perhaps I'll tell you another time."

"Oh, okay… Sure thing, Carter. Besides, dinner's ready."

Cas frowns, "Carter?"

"Yeah, as in Adam Carter? From 'Spooks'?" Dean stares at Cas, shaking his head when Cas narrows his eyes. "The spy? Because you were being all secretive – you know what, forget it." Dean laughs, rolling his eyes and placing food onto two plates.

"If you wanted to call me a spy, Casanova would have been the better option."

"What?" Dean laughs, setting the plates down in front of them and undoing his apron. "Why?"

"Well, for one thing, Casanova was a real spy. Whilst he was famous for 'womanizing' and his book 'The Story of My Life', he also worked as a spy for the Venetian Inquisitors of State."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Trust you to get all factual. I don't know why I mentioned it; you never get any of my pop-culture references anyway."

"Why should I fill my head with pointless trivia, such as television shows, if they do not interest me?" Cas frowns, cutting a section of his steak and eating it. The hot, juicy meat fills his mouth and his stomach growls in anticipation. "You are a very good cook, Dean." He smiles, holding a hand over his mouth as he talks.

Dean grins, his mouth full of food. "Thanks, I do try."

Cas laughs, shaking his head at Dean's apparent lack of manners.

They eat the rest of their meals, content with small talk as they fill their stomachs.

"Well, at least I didn't have to cook for Sam too, that kids getting through more red meat than a fucking lion at the moment." Dean laughs, wiping his mouth.

Cas smiles, standing up and taking their plates. Dean's hand grabs his arm, holding him back.

"Whoa there, Cas. My house, my job. Sit." He stands up, pushing Castiel back towards his seat. Cas chuckles quietly, watching the younger man as he carries the plates and empty beer bottles inside the house. Dean must be so used to being an older brother, he's so bossy with Castiel – and it just makes him laugh.

Dean heads back over, the white shirt clinging to his toned outline as he stretches an arm up and runs a hand through his hair. He grins a young, cheeky smile at Cas, who feels a jolt of electricity race through his body. _Damn._

Dean sits down in front of him, the glow from the setting sun turning his dark hair a shade of blonde. "Cas, I uh, I need to talk to you actually."

Cas frowns. "You do?" He really hopes it's not about this morning. He won't be able to lie to Dean. His brother had always said he was a terrible liar, and he was. Balthazar used to know every time when Cas had blamed spilt food or stolen toys on Ana, and his older brother used to pick on him for it.

"Listen, um – about earlier…"

"Dean, I thought we'd sorted this. There's nothing to talk about." Castiel's heart races inside his chest as he grits his teeth and stares at the floor.

"No – no, Cas. Look, I just… I'm really not very good at explaining myself, so be patient with me here." Dean says, ducking his head into Castiel's view and peering at him with sharp eyes. "Please?"

Cas sighs, shrugging and crossing his arms. "Sure."

"What would you have said if it was a date last night?"

"What? But it wasn't, was it?" Cas frowns, utterly perplexed by Dean's question. Where was he going with this?

"You know, how would you feel about the idea of, you know, being with me?"

"Dean, I spend the majority of my time in your company."

Dean sighs, tapping his fingers against his leg. "I know that. I meant…" Dean frowns, mutters 'screw it' under his breath and reaches across the table.

Cas feels Dean's fingers grasp at the fabric below his chest, pulling him forwards with a thud as his stomach hits the table. Dean's face is centimeters away from his own; he can feel his hot breath against his lips as he leans in, delicately placing a questioning kiss on Castiel's lips.

Cas feels it hit him hard, like a sharp throb in the pit of his stomach. He groans, one hand reaching for the back of Deans head to pull him closer. Their lips collide with brutal force, hot and heavy as Cas explores Dean's mouth with his tongue. The lingering taste of beer melts into their kiss, every part of Castiel aching for more.

Dean moans quietly, one hand on the back of Castiel's neck. "Cas?" he breathes against Castiel's open mouth, causing Cas to stop and move his head away slightly. He frowns, their noses almost touching.

"What?"

Dean smiles, "do you get what I was trying to tell you now, or…?"

"Shut up." Castiel growls, standing up and moving around the table. He grabs Dean's arms and pulls him up to meet him, tilting his head back slightly as he pulls Dean's lips back to his own. Dean runs his hands up Castiel's body, fingers lingering on his shoulders. He groans deep in his chest as Castiel bites down on his lip, pushing him backwards until his back's pressed against the fence.

"Cas." Dean hisses, as Cas grazes a hand against his crotch. Cas smiles, pushing his hips hard into Dean and burying his head against Dean's neck. He finds a soft spot, then licks, nibbles, and teases the same patch of skin until it's pink and tender and Dean's knees buckle with a hearty moan. Dean's bracing himself against the fence, head tilted upwards as he bites down on his lip.

Cas moves his lips across Dean's jawline and back to his lips, tracing the line of his lower lip with his tongue. He runs his fingers through Dean's thick hair, curling his hands into fists as he pulls Dean's lips against his. Dean's tongue reacts automatically, dancing with Castiel's and exploring his mouth. Cas groans, pressing himself closer to Dean but never close enough, never quite enough contact –

"Dean?"

"Shit!" Dean grumbles, pushing Castiel away from him. Cas turns around, biting his lip whilst Dean coughs and straightens out his top. "Uh, Sammy, I'm so…"

Sam stood there, wide-eyed, a pile of books clasped against his chest.

"Jess' Mom dropped me home," he says quietly, trying to suppress a grin as he frowns at the two of them. Cas clears his throat, feeling heat spread to his cheeks as he gazes at the floor. "You know, from debate club. Which you were supposed to pick me up from." Sam rolls his eyes.

"I thought you were getting a lift, anyway?"

Sam raises an eyebrow and shrugs. "Can I have the key? I need to do my homework."

"The back door's open Sam. Use it." Dean glares, and Cas swears he can see ice hanging from his gaze.

"Okay, whatever. By the way, you might want to groan a little quieter next time." Sam turns on his heels, but not before Cas spots the glint in his eye as he grins to himself.

"Son of a-" Dean mutters, and Cas looks up at him with flushed cheeks. Dean's grinning down at Cas, hair wild and ragged, and a pink mark so dark on his neck Cas doubts it'll go unnoticed. He swallows dryly, but grins up at Dean too.

"Well, that was fun," he mumbles, pulling Castiel's waist until their faces are close. "We should do that again sometime." Dean purrs, lips grazing Castiel's.

"Perhaps, but let's not get interrupted by your little brother next time." Cas smirks, leaning up a little to place another kiss on Dean's lips. Dean smiles, pulling away and heading back to the table. He grabs a few beers, closes the lid on the barbeque and nods his head in the direction of the door.

"Wanna come inside? We can watch TV for a bit."

"Sure, Dean." Cas nods, following his friend through the door into the cool of the house.

The light sinks from the sky as Dean and Cas sit on the sofa, legs touching. No hugging, no hand holding – but Cas doesn't mind. He's never been a fan of big displays of affection, so just feeling Dean's leg against his own is enough. Dean laughs at the movie, as a strange green man mumbles odd words in a grammatically incorrect manner, and every time Cas rolls his eyes Dean hits his arm and tells him to pay attention.

"Star Wars is a classic, Cas!" Dean grumbles, glaring at him with an open mouth.

"It's not really my thing."

"Well, you better make it your thing, we've got six of them to watch."

Cas groans, but quietly looks forward to spending the time with Dean. He glances over at him, and Dean looks just as happy as Cas does.

Cas has never really wanted a relationship. He's always been guarded, not letting people in. But with Dean, everything's different. He imagines, just for a moment, what it would be like to be with Dean, and he feels a smile spread across his face.

"What's got you so happy, chuckles?" Dean laughs.

"Nothing." Cas smiles back, rubbing his neck with his hand. Damn, he wanted to kiss those soft lips again – and soon.

"Dean, are you watching Star Wars?" A voice exclaims from behind them, and they both turn their heads. Dean grins at Sam, placing an arm over the back of the sofa.

"Yeah, Episode I. Come on, sit." Dean pats the sofa next to him, and Sam rushes around and flops next to him. Dean's now squeezed in the middle, one arm around Sam and the other against Cas' thigh.

Cas glances at Dean out of the corner of his eye, a frown etched across his face. He watches Dean laugh at the movie, squeezing Sam's shoulder and grinning down at him, and he wonders if there's ever been a time he was that happy with his own family.

"_Cassie!" Ana yelped, Castiel pulling on her long copper hair as he chased her around the garden. "Cassie stop!" She giggled, falling to the floor in a crumpled heap. Castiel tripped on top of her, lying with his cheek against hers as they giggled together._

"_Castiel, are you being nasty to your sister again?" Balthazar frowned, heading over to them and picking Castiel up. He perched on his older brother's hip, gazing up at him with deep blue eyes. He shook his head furiously, dark hair flapping as he frowns._

_Ana sat up, grinning like five-year-olds do. "No, we're playing, Balthazar." She smiled, holding out her arms and squeezing her hands open and closed._

_The fourteen-year-old sighed, bending down to pick her up with his free hand. He carried his brother and sister inside and placed them on the sofa. "Here – just watch TV. Mommy and Daddy have visitors, you don't want to disturb them, do you?"_

_The kids shook their heads, eyes wide and curious. Balthazar grinned, ruffling Castiel's hair and placing a kiss on Ana's cheek. "Good. I'll come back with some food for you too, if you'd like?"_

_They both giggled, sitting cross-legged on the sofa as Balthazar winked at them and closed the door._

"_If you get chocolate and I don't, will you share with me?" Ana asked Castiel, her chubby fingers grasping at her hair._

_Castiel frowned at her. "Why?"_

"_Because I'm five and you're seven, and Mommy says you're allowed chocolate and I'm not."_

"_That's not because I'm older, Ana," Castiel smirked, "that's because you're fat."_

_Ana frowned, hitting at Castiel with a small hand. "Shut up!"_

_Castiel giggled, pushing her with one hand. He didn't mean it, he was only teasing. Ana knew that, as she giggled and pushed him back. "Sure, Annie, I'll give you some of my chocolate."_

"_Thanks, Cassie." She grinned._

Castiel had always known he missed his sister the most.


End file.
